


champagne affection

by sidereality



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Blink and you'll miss it, Crimson Flower Ending, F/M, Library Sex, PWP, Post-Canon, Yuri/Constance canon ending, extremely brief references to yuristance support cutscenes, i don't know if that kind of magic exists in fodlan but we're rolling with it, implied polyam ashen wolves, magical champagne!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:08:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27810517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidereality/pseuds/sidereality
Summary: You are cordially invited by Lady Constance von Nuvelle,in concert with the Royal Household of Emperor Edelgard von Hresvelg,for an evening of celebration & merrymaking at Nuvelle Manor.Formal dress.  Drinks and dancing begin at eight.“Wait, this better not be your way ofrewarding mefor planning a good party for your return.”
Relationships: Yuris Leclair | Yuri Leclerc/Constance von Nuvelle, mentioned Yuri/Constance/Hapi/Balthus
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	champagne affection

She took a flute of champagne from a passing servant’s tray, casting a surreptitious glance over the rim to make sure all her guests were having a good time. It would not do, after all, for it to be said that House Nuvelle didn’t know how to throw a party. Especially one attended by the _emperor of Fódlan_. Her rebuilt house was still so young, like a newborn foal wobbling on fresh legs. She would not have it fail due to something as trivial as a stale party.

This reason, among others, made irritation flare up in Constance’s stomach as she watched Yuri slip out of the room like a shadow, clearly expecting her to just… follow him. Of all the arrogant things to do, as if it would be easy for her to just _disappear from her own party_. As the lady and (dare she think it?) _matriarch_ of House Nuvelle, her role was certainly not a small one. And him! He should know better. Not that Yuri had ever been inclined to play by the rules; much less the ones he insisted were pedantic, the doggedly old-fashioned remnants of nobility in the new world Edelgard was forging.

Her dress blushed a delicate lavender when she took a sip from the flute, bubbles fizzing on her tongue–– it was her own original design, of course, the champagne infused with a timed charm that upon imbibement turned one’s clothing their favourite colour for the duration of the evening. Constance was quite sure no one else in Fódlan had ever thrown such a colourful ball before. 

Oh, she did so enjoy showing off her magical prowess! She was quite proud of this one, although she could admit that while it was flashy, there was no tactical advantage to it… But they weren’t in wartime any longer, were they? Constance looked around her pretty, flashy ballroom, full of pretty, flashy colours. Her spell certainly wouldn’t mark any thieves or make people harbouring ill thoughts about the emperor light up, but they could afford a little frivolity now that Fódlan was, on the whole, more or less at peace. The only thing she worried about was how many were sporting Adrestian red. A good number of officials had come in red anyway, being _patriotic_ and whatnot; it made it hard for Constance to determine if there were that many people who enjoyed red that much (boring!), or if somehow her charm didn’t work with a hundred percent efficacy rate… 

She spotted a dot of green and a bright splotch of pink amidst the crowds. Well, at least the charm worked on _someone_. Hapi was in the forest green of the woods around her village, of course, and Balthus’s dress tunic couldn’t have been anything other than the colour of Holst Goneril’s hair, several shades darker than his sister’s. Constance smiled and took another sip of her champagne, watching Hapi twist her mouth in wry amusement up at her partner as he threw his arms out to flourish a detail of something or other in his story. She’d become quite good at inferring the reasons behind individuals’ results during her time working on the colour charm; taking on an aspect of a first love’s appearance, like Balthus’s had, was not unusual. 

(The purple of her own gown was the very shade of Yuri’s hair. He had, of course, been infuriatingly smug at this.)

Speaking of infuriating. Yuri had probably been waiting for her for a couple minutes now. Constance decided he could wait a couple more, looking around again as she finished her drink. All of the guests seemed settled and were having a good time, with the emperor and the professor holding court at one end of the room and the musicians preparing to play for the second round of dancing at the other. He’d asked her to meet him in the library, and… well… there was really nothing stopping her from finding out what the sneaky bird was up to.

Damn it, curiosity had always been one of her chief weaknesses. She placed her empty champagne flute on a tray and tried to be as inconspicuous as possible as she made her way out of the ballroom. 

Whatever it was that Yuri wanted had better be worth her time.

\- - -

“ _Yuri!_ ” Constance whined rather ineffectually, her breath hitching as Yuri’s mouth found _that spot_ on her neck. He had her perched on the edge of one of the tables in the library, a possessive hand on the small of her back, his hips bracketed by her knees. “We can’t _do_ this, Yuri, what are people going to say about the _both_ of us disappearing? Goddess preserve me, House Nuvelle is going to be a _laughingstock_ , and after all the work I’ve done!” 

The damn bastard was chuckling, of all things, how dare he–– but oh Saints, _the mouth on him_. She blamed the champagne for the fire bubbling in her veins, the way she was tilting her head back to give him better access instead of pushing him off.

“Well, my dear,” said Yuri, sounding rather full of himself. “The emperor and the professor are downstairs, as are Balthus and Hapi. I’d wager everyone will be occupied with bootlicking and barely-appropriate-for-high-society stories for at least the next fifteen minutes.” The tickle of his breath made the baby hairs at her nape stand on end. “We’ve done more with less.”

Constance spluttered, cheeks hot, a dozen retorts fizzling out on her tongue as Yuri sank his teeth into the junction of her neck and shoulder. “We danced the first dance, which you have impressed upon me is _very important_ , and no one expects us to be on the floor all the time.” A hand slid up the panel of her bodice to cup a breast, calloused fingertips scraping deliciously across the petal-soft skin above her neckline. Constance’s corset suddenly felt too restrictive as her treacherous flesh reacted to his touch. 

“Besides,” Yuri continued smoothly, thumb tracing a circle around the pebbled bud of her nipple, sliding his nose along the line of her jaw. “Is it so wrong for me to want to appreciate my wife after so much time away?” 

At once, it dawned on Constance that this was the first time she’d been alone with her husband in several moons. He’d just returned the previous night from some assignment for the crown, doing whatever it was that Hubert needed him to do; she’d been so busy with her research and with party planning that she’d barely seen him until, well… _now_.

Suddenly her cunt felt achingly empty, and she was glad her weight rested on the table as her knees jellified.

Constance made as if to push him away, but her hands merely grazed the brocade of Yuri’s lapels, fingers splaying on his chest. His eyes twinkled affectionately, full of mischievous promise, mouth curved in the smirk that had been the bane of her existence for the past ten years of her life. Constance knows how she must look: hungry, wanton, pupils blown wide and a flush spreading down her decolletage.

“What if someone catches us?” A token protest, as if she weren’t already wiggling up to sit more securely on the table. The thrill that sang through her felt like lightning magic, and she threw an anxious glance at the door, half wishing she’d thought to lock it when she’d entered, half daring someone to walk in and find them _in flagrante delicto_. The library was only a floor up from the ballroom, and if Constance strained her ears, she could just barely hear the beginning of a waltz.

Yuri’s grin was all wolf as he helped her push her skirts up, hands warm on her thighs as he sank to his knees. Oh, she so adored seeing him looking up at her from between her legs. 

“Funny, you used to say the same thing back in Abyss.”

 _The perpetual dim light of the underground, biting back her moans lest they echo along the dank stone corridors, her legs spread as she lay on a table not unlike this one, Yuri’s cock buried deep inside her, Hapi’s mouth sliding wetly across hers…_ Constance blushed harder, feeling a fresh wave of arousal wash over her.

“Oh, you’re _incorrigible_.” She almost asked if Yuri had invited _them_ up too, but she’d accidentally let go of a handful of dress to swat his shoulder, and the silk cascaded over his head. Constance couldn’t help but shiver as now unseen hands parted her thighs, gentle but firm, a warm huff of breath tickling the lace band of her stockings. Those could be Hapi’s hands if she closed her eyes and thought about it, or even Balthus’ if she pretended harder. But it wasn’t her dear friends she wanted right now; it was her husband she ached for, her darling mockingbird, hidden beneath skirts the colour of his hair.

She shuddered as the damp material of her smallclothes were slid aside, a thumb brushing against her clit. Then a mouth sealed around the aching nub, and Constance jumped, stifling her squeak of surprise and pleasure behind a hand, eyes shooting wide open at the thrill fluttering through her.

“Hells,” Yuri growled. She was already dripping for him, his finger sliding into her to the second knuckle with no resistance. Constance keened, trying to clutch at him as he withdrew. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have _implements_ to keep her satisfied when her husband was gone, but there was really nothing like him; and here he was, and here _she_ was, and yet he was still teasing her.

There was the soft sound of a finger being sucked clean. “I’ve wanted to taste you for weeks, love. I’m more than half glad the church is gone if it means I get to worship at this altar instead.”

Constance made another unintelligible whine, canting her hips forward impatiently. Yuri had always been silver tongued, but right now it wasn’t his fancy words or blithe jokes that she wanted. She was quite speechless now, suffused with such desire that she felt she’d likely _die_ if he didn’t touch her again. Constance wasn’t sure if she’d vocalized this, feeling more than hearing Yuri’s chuckle as he licked a languid stripe along her. “Impatient, my lady?”

“Yuri, I swear––” The rest of her words were lost to a wordless cry as he latched his mouth to her in earnest. He alternated using the tip of his tongue to jab hard and fast at her to laving with the broad flat of it, sucking and pushing into her, fucking her with his tongue and mouthing at her with soft lips. Her pulse roared in her ears, knuckles white on the edge of the table. Goddess above, she was already so close. 

“Wait, wait, stop,” Constance babbled, scrabbling at the lump that was Yuri, his tongue lapping at her fluttering cunt, her petticoats bobbing with his movement. “Wait, Yuri, _please_ , I need you.”

She pulsed around nothing as he withdrew, purple hair emerging from her skirts at an agonizingly slow pace. Oh, deshabille suited him. Hair rumpled _just so_ , eyes half-lidded with arousal, mouth slick with her. Yuri rose to his feet smoothly, stepping into the vacated space between her legs. Constance tugged him down to taste herself on his shining lips, her other hand stroking the tented front of his pants. He made a gratifying noise, and she was once again left making debauched little whines as he pulled back and chucked her under the chin, spearing her with his molten gaze, every point of contact electric with how conscious she was of him.

“Tell me then, wife. What is it that you _need_?”

He was so hot and hard beneath her palm, so ready for her. But Yuri had always liked his games, and he loved to make her beg. He loved it when he got her to curse, to cry out and blaspheme all for the want of his touch. She’d never admit it, but Constance liked the way it felt when he made her squirm and plead for more. He liked making her feel debased, like someone who needed to ask instead of someone who should be given what she wanted. It made a flame of humiliation tickle up her spine, and Constance would never admit to anyone that she loved it.

But that was for another time. She’d waited long enough for him, and she, unlike him, seemed to be more aware of their time limitations. Constance didn’t wait for an invitation, nails picking at the buckle of Yuri’s belt, prying it open and plunging her hand through to touch the velvet length of him. Being shorter than him, she didn’t have many chances where she was of a height to stroke him comfortably beneath his trousers. She took full advantage of it now, running a thumb over the slit where precome was already beading.

“I see we’re taking what we want tonight.” Yuri’s voice, dipped down to a growl, made her hips rock, desperate for friction. “In that case, I’ll take you as I wish.” Constance could hardly breathe, her nerves so alight with need that she barely registered Yuri lifting her bodily off the table. The next thing she knew, her nose was inches from a series of books that looked like they’d never been touched. She gripped the shelf to steady herself, eyes crossing slightly to read _Treatises of the Early 1100s: Exports Between Brigid and the Adrestian Empire_ on the spine. Well, at least she wouldn’t be getting distracted by that while Yuri–– while Yuri what? Something nudged her elbow, and Constance looked over to see that Yuri had dragged one of the library ladders over. 

Oh. _Oh_. Sturdy wood and metal, secured top and bottom to the shelving unit and the wall, able to be locked into place. Constance stepped back so that Yuri could click the lock, and then with only slightly tremulous hands, she climbed a few steps of the ladder and spread her legs as far as the width of it allowed.

“Good girl,” Yuri said, smoothing a stray curl of her hair. He was being gentle and slow again, and Constance stared at the line of books in front of her, almost dazed with anticipation. Slowly, so slowly, he rucked up her skirts once more, shoving them through the slot between steps to tumble out the other side. At a snail’s pace, he undid the laces of her smalls, and she shuddered as the soaked material left her. Yuri paused, and Constance imagined what he was seeing: her slender frame dwarfed by the tall shelves and the ladder, pale thighs bisected by the lines of her garters and stockings, the round curve of her ass and the shining pink flash of her cunt shining between them.

A rustle of movement, and then the head of his cock was teasing at her entrance. Constance made a noise that couldn’t be misconstrued as anything other than a moan, pushing her hips backward to take more of him in. A firm hand on the small of her back stopped her, and she could just scream with frustration. “Just what do you think you’re–– _ohhh...!_ ” In one punishing stroke, Yuri hilted himself in her, and just as fast pulled out almost all the way. And again. “Yu– Yuri, ah, please,” Constance nearly blacked out with how much this was _not quite_ what she needed, her walls clenching as she was tipped over and over toward that building pressure, pulled back time and again by the way he wouldn’t give her the friction she needed.

“I said I’d be taking you how _I_ wanted,” Yuri said, and she could feel his smile at the nape of her neck. She could also feel his self control giving out, his cock lingering just a little more every time he thrust in. He groaned lowly. “Constance, fuck, you feel so good, love. You must have missed me something fierce, eh? You’re so hungry for my cock.” She couldn’t answer, lost in the delicious friction of him within her, his hand reaching around to rub her clit.

When he finally snapped, she hoped for everyone’s sake that the orchestra was playing something loud: she screamed.

 _Saints_ , he knew just what she wanted, what she needed. Yuri parted her folds with long, dexterous fingers so that the pulsing knot of her clit was fully exposed, the air a cool tickle upon her heated, oversensitive flesh. Constance mewled hoarsely, her knuckles white on the shelf as Yuri buried himself hilt deep in her. The pace he set was unforgiving and utterly punishing, the carpets and books eating up the obscene sound of flesh hitting flesh, the wet clutch of her pussy around him.

When she came, it’s like casting Thoron, a burgeoning feeling of tingling building from her toes and up her thighs, pooling in her navel before it spins out of her control. Constance was not by any means what anyone would call _quiet_ in bed (or, in this case, pressed up against a bookshelf), and Yuri’s hand clamped warm at her open mouth as she cried out a litany of curses she wouldn’t have known in another lifetime. Oh goddess, she could taste herself in the creases of his palm. This, and Yuri’s more and more erratic pounding into her, the way he made such exquisite noises as he put his whole being into fucking her, tipped her right over the edge of sensitive and headlong into another orgasm.

This time, she felt herself bringing Yuri along. Still, he held back just enough to rasp, “inside you, Lady Nuvelle?” into her ear, and she nodded frantically, babbling _yesyesyes, please;_ and then she felt him coming with a low groan, his cock pulsing deliciously in time with the undulating waves of her own pleasure, the seeping warmth of his release pumped deep into her.

They stood there together for a moment, boneless and sated, relying on the ladder to hold them up. Yuri released his grip on her face to twist his fingers in a white magic sigil over her abdomen to ensure none of the seed took, pressing a fond kiss to the nape of her neck as he slid out of her. Constance let her head loll forward, resting her forehead on a rung and watching under her arm as he produced a handkerchief from some unseen pocket to wipe her off first. It was little things like these, how Yuri always made sure his people were taken care of before he was, that made him a good leader. Constance knew that the smallest details, like how she despised the feeling of wetness trickling out of her and making her thighs sticky, didn’t escape him. The touch of cloth against her innermost parts was tender, the tap on her hip to signal that she could step down again similarly so. She took another brief moment to ground herself, then raised her head to see where her smalls had gotten to.

Yuri, of course, was holding them. With extreme deliberateness, he kept her gaze as he slid them into an inner pocket of his jacket. Years ago, Constance would have torn him a new one for it. Now, she only rolled her eyes and huffed in mock anger, gathering her skirts in one hand and taking his proffered one to step down from the ladder. They move in learned, companionable silence; the comfort of comrades, and the comfort of lovers who trust more than their lives to each other. 

Only after Constance had deemed the fall of her skirts satisfactory and was straightening Yuri’s collar did the sound of the gala flood back into her periphery. His eyes were briefly unfocused as he blinked down at her, his hands delayed momentarily before they came to rest on her waist, and oh, she could kiss him. And she did. 

Unlike the halls of Abyss, where any number of people could be found engaging in acts unfit for the Goddess’s eyes, hearing such a carnal activity, much less the scream she had released, at a formal gathering… it would have brought the guards running. He never missed a step, her darling husband. She wondered with a tinge of awe at how much trust a man who worked as (as far as she could tell) a sort of spymaster with Minister von Vestra had in their friends and the not-insignificant number of powerful mages and fighters below to spell the library to silence whilst the emperor was a guest in their home. A smaller, not easily quashed part of her, a younger self, perhaps, was indignant that he would take the control out of her hands, would leave everything outside the library to chance when she’d had everything so meticulously planned.

“Constance,” Yuri murmured. She snapped back to the present to find violet eyes looking gently but seriously down at her. “It’s alright. We deserved a moment away, it won’t cost us; you’ve done more than enough for tonight. You’ve done so well, love.” And she melted. He truly never missed a detail. 

She didn’t quite know what he was referring to: the party she’d planned, or perhaps follow-up praise from the lovemaking, or even assurance for the anxiety she had whenever he left. But she let him kiss the praise into her mouth nonetheless, pulling away to twinkle up at him as in the distance, a swell of applause crested at the end of a minuet.

\- - -

Balthus looked over Constance’s shoulder, and something in Yuri’s cat-got-the-cream expression must have tipped him off, because he (not subtly) nudged Hapi with an elbow. A feeling of dread began to build in Constance’s stomach as they drew closer. Hapi’s expression was deadly neutral as the conversational group parted for the approaching host and hostess, perhaps the tiniest hint of enjoyment at her dear friend’s discomfort in her eyes as she said, “Speaking of Abyssian pursuits...”

With a stifled groan, Constance hurriedly waved over a platter of champagne. _A successful party indeed._

This was going to be a long night.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you infinitely to H for fixing my wonky past/present tenses - any remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> and thank _you_ for reading my first real attempt at writing anything erotic!


End file.
